Fly, thought, on the wings of gold
by RedHatMeg
Summary: "Morse was still seeing Thursday motionless body, lying on the floor." "Morse's voice was coming back to Thursday in the darkness." Post-Neverland.


**I wanted to write a post-Neverland fanfic where Morse, who's in prison, is worried over Thursday's life, while Thursday, who's in hospital, is worried over Morse's... well, he's worried over Morse's life too, but also about him general.**

**Later I decided that some inclusion of opera would be at place too. I've come with Hebrew slaves choir from _Nabucco_, because my knowledge of the opera sucks and I don't know any other opera songs about imprisonment.**

**Also, I know the whole story is too sweet for _Endeavour_... but let's pretend that masonry can do shit about our two heroes XD.**

**Fly, thought, on wings of gold**

_The sound of gunshot._

_Inspector Fred Thursday falling on the ground from the shot somewhere on his body… Morse doesn't know where, but he suspects it's somewhere in the area of Thursday's chest._

_Morse turns back to see the shooter. Clive Deare comes out and start to taunt him._

Morse was in his cell, recalling this painful event, on and on. This was the moment when everything began to become worse and worse with every passing second. Deare was killed, but before it happened, he managed to frame Morse into murder. The person, who killed Deare, the one that could help them with the Blenheim Vale case, committed suicide. Morse was arrested and, by now, couldn't even prove his innocence. And inspector Thursday…

Morse was still seeing Thursday motionless body, lying on the floor. He was still remembering those horrible, _horrible_ thoughts that were crossing his mind back then. The thoughts that inspector Fred Thursday was…

"_Nothing you can do for him now…"_

_Morse looks at Thursday with horror. For a moment Clive Deare disappears from his mind and there is only, seemingly unmoving, inspector Thursday. Morse just stands and stares, but soon he manages to speak out._

"_Sir? Sir!" He hopes for any reaction from his superior. Any indication that Thursday is still alive. When he receives no response, he turns to Deare and screams in useless wrath: "You bastard! YOU BASTARD!"_

The funny thing was that they both – Morse and Thursday – assumed, they were alone in this battle and knew that they might not come out alive from it. But this is not how Morse expected it to happen. He thought that he die alongside with Thursday after a long fight. Not that Thursday will get shot a seconds after deciding to go on this quest. And Morse certainly didn't expect that Thursday will die, when he himself was still alive.

Frankly, when Deare was killed and when Strange came with the support, there was a flicker of hope. First, Thursday started to move, meaning that he was, after all, alive. So Morse was talking to him, doing everything for inspector to not let him lost consciousness. Because Fred Thursday losing consciousness meant him drifting into death. And that was one thing, Morse desperately tried to avoid.

But Strange didn't bring just the policemen in the scene. He also brought an ambulance. And so Morse was observing with worry as his mentor was being transported into the hospital, and Chief Superintendent Bright was reassuring the young constable that Thursday will get the best treatment.

Right after he said it, Morse was arrested for the crime he did not commit.

So here he was, locked in the cell, uncertain of his future. It was dark and most of the inmates were sleeping in their cells. Morse wasn't sleeping. He was lying in his cell bed and remembering this horrible events, feeling how hope was leaving him with every minute. What will happen to him now? What will happen to Monica and Thursdays? What will happen to inspector? Will he be alright? Or maybe he was already…

No, Morse couldn't think that. Unless somebody tell him that inspector Thursday is gone, Morse had to believe that his superior was still alive. There was something irrational in this belief, but right now Morse desperately needed to believe in something. So he decided to believe that inspector Fred Thursday will be alright. After all, what kind of world would have no Fred Thursday?

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Morse could hear a certain melody. Earlier, he was absent-mindly humming it, before his cellmate, in not-very-subtle way, told him to stop. So Morse stopped, but the melody stayed in his head.

The melody was none other than _Va, pensiero_ from _Nabucco_ by Verdi. A song sang by a choir of Hebrew slaves.

_Va, pensiero, sull'ali dorate; (Fly, thought, on wings of gold;)_

_va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli, (go settle upon the slopes and the hills,)_

_ove olezzano tepide e molli (where, soft and mild, the sweet airs)_

_l'aure dolci del suolo natal! (of our native land smell fragrant!)_

It was both adequate and inadequate to Morse's current situation. Yes, he lost his freedom and in that moment wanted to be in his flat, with Monica, maybe even listening to his opera records… But at the same time, he wasn't a slave, nor he was in the foreign land.

_Del Giordano le rive saluta, (Greet the banks of the Jordan)_

_di Sionne le torri atterrate... (and Zion's toppled towers...)_

_O, mia patria, sì bella e perduta! (Oh, my country, so beautiful and lost!)_

_O, membranza, sì cara e fatal! (Oh, remembrance, so dear and so fatal!)_

Regardless of its accuracy, Morse couldn't get it out of his head. It was like this song was on some vinyl record and somebody was playing it, on and on. But right now Morse was the only one, who could hear it.

_Arpa d'or dei fatidici vati, (Golden harp of the prophetic seers,)_

_perché muta dal salice pendi? (why dost thou hang mute upon the willow?)_

_Le memorie nel petto raccendi, (Rekindle our bosom's memories,)_

_ci favella del tempo che fu! (and speak to us of times gone by!)_

The weirdest part was that it didn't disturb his train of thought. _Va, pensiero_ was "playing" in his head, but Morse had no problems thinking about his current predicament, about Monica, about Joan, Sam and Win… and about inspector Thursday.

Fred Thursday was occupying his mind the most. The fear for his fate was making Morse sleepless. Because even if his superior… no, not, superior… his _friend_… Even if his friend will be alive after that night, there was a chance that he will be disabled or in coma, or worse. Many horrible scenarios were coming to Morse's mind as he was thinking about Thursday. A scenarios where the good inspector is the shadow of his former self, his family left without father and husband, his good name taken away from him alongside with life.

_O simile di Sòlima ai fati (Mindful of the fate of Jerusalem,)_

_traggi un suono di crudo lamento, (give forth a sound of crude lamentation,)_

_o t'ispiri il Signore un concento (or may the Lord inspire you a harmony of voices)_

_che ne infonda al patire virtù. (which may instill virtue to suffering.)_

* * *

><p>"<em>Sir? Sir!"<em>

Morse's voice was coming back to Thursday in the darkness. The inspector knew it was just a memory of something that happened… but he barely remembered the events. They were enveloped in the fog, or rather – in the unclear flashbacks.

"_You bastard! YOU BASTARD!"_

Thursday recalled that he and Morse went to Blenheim Vale. They both were ready to die that night. Thursday was at the same time sad and glad that Morse came with him. Sad, because he was fond of the guy and really wanted him to succeed in police work. Glad, because Thursday didn't feel so utterly alone with this whole escapade. He had an ally.

They prepared for their targets' arrival. Thursday remembered standing at the wall, holding the gun in his hand and waiting… and then…

_He hears a gunshot and a second later he feels the bullet piercing his body. Thursday releases his grip on the gun and falls. He catches a glimpse of Morse observing him with horror._

_Someone's steps on the wooden floor. Clive Deare enters the scene._

"_Nothing you can do for him now…"_

That was the moment, when everything was melting into one big mess. The next thing, Thursday remembered was:

"_Sir? Sir!"_

It didn't matter what Deare was saying or what was happening next, really. The only thing Thursday could recall from that event, was Morse's worried and scared voice, calling him amidst the darkness… And another gunshot. Someone was shooting, at least twice. The first bullet probably wasn't meant for Morse, because Thursday remembered the young policeman leaning over him and talking to him…

"_Stay with me, sir. Stay with me, sir. Sir? Everything will be alright, sir. Stay with me, sir. Stay with me."_

But the second gunshot… Thursday couldn't put his finger on what happened after the second gunshot. He guessed, he lost consciousness at this point. Nevertheless, now he tried to find in his memory any clue as to what was happening after the second bullet has been shot.

Because there was a high possibility that said bullet reached Morse and maybe… maybe…

Thursday knew that _he_ himself wasn't dead. The pain in the chest was too big to be felt by a ghost. So yeah, Thursday was in his own body, alright. The thing was – he didn't know what happened to Morse. And he wanted to believe that the guy somehow managed to get out of trouble, but – knowing his luck – it wasn't very likely.

The mere thought that Morse might be dead, made Thursday's heart unease. Thursday hoped that Morse will become a fine detective; that he will have a bright future. He put so much hopes in this boy (because, really, sometimes Morse seemed to be just a boy, not a man) that at some point he thought that he could die peacefully. Not only he was leaving a legacy in his two biological children, but also in Morse. Let's face it, neither Sam nor Joan would ever go his footsteps, so Morse would be his legacy in police force.

Now there was a possibility that this sweet, nice boy could be dead. Really, Thursday shouldn't be surprised if he _was_ dead, because Morse came with him, just as ready to die in the fight as him. To be fair, the inspector had to admit that maybe he should order him to get the hell out of there and save himself… but Morse was stubborn, when it came to police work. Before Thursday would force him to leave, the culprits would be already there. Nevertheless, Fred regretted that he didn't give it a try. He would be at least certain, that Morse was safe and sound.

_Va, pensiero, sull'ali dorate;_

_va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli,_

_ove olezzano tepide e molli_

_l'aure dolci del suolo natal!_

This was new. Well, someway familiar to Thursday, after all, he heard this song once or twice, when he was at Morse's place. However, Thursday was sure that right now it wasn't a memory, but something from the real world.

Inspector Fred Thursday slowly opened his eyes.

_Del Giordano le rive saluta,_

_di Sionne le torri atterrate..._

_O, mia patria, sì bella e perduta!_

_O, membranza, sì cara e fatal!_

First there was a light of whiteness. Then, when his vision cleared, he saw few familiar faces. He saw his wife, Win, smiling through tears at his awakening. He saw his children, standing at her side. He saw Jakes and Strange, leaning on the wall. He also saw a gramophone, standing next to the sergeant and the constable; playing an opera music that brought Thursday to life.

Win kissed him on the forehead and was the first to speak.

"Thank God, Fred."

For a couple of seconds Thursday was just observing everything around him. He knew, he was in the hospital and that was because of the events of that fateful night. But what happened exactly?

He asked this question. For a couple of seconds there was silence, then Strange started to explain that Thursday and Morse were found in Blenheim Vale, alongside with dead bodies of Clive Deare and doctor McGareth's daughter, Angela; that Thursday himself was heavily wounded and has been transported to hospital as soon as the support came on the scene of the crime; finally that Morse has been arrested for murder.

The last part made Thursday frown his eyebrows, but he didn't say anything, at last not for a first few seconds. He was processing the new information.

So Morse was alive, after all. That was good…

And he was in jail right now. That was bad.

Thursday could hardly sit up in his bad, but he already knew that he will move heaven and earth, and take Morse out of prison.

* * *

><p>A visit from Monica and Strange made Morse smile. He was even more happy to hear from them that inspector Thursday has awaken and (although he wasn't in the state to walk anywhere) nothing was threatening his life. Momentarily Morse felt how a big weight was lifted of his heart.<p>

Thursday was alive! He survived! The world was suddenly a better place, filled with sandwiches and beer. Because inspector Fred Thursday returned.

* * *

><p>After some time, with much effort of Thursday, Strange, Jakes and Morse's lawyer, the charges has been lifted. Morse exited the courtroom as a free man. Everyone gathered around him and he was hugging and greeting them.<p>

Thursday himself was observing him from a distance. The boy was free. He still had a future. He still could make a difference. Thursday was many times thinking about various "what ifs". What if Morse was killed that night? What if he was killed in the prison (with his luck, it was highly possible)? What if he had to rot in said prison for the rest of his life? When Thursday was thinking about it, he couldn't help but feel even more determined to get Morse out of there.

Right now all those horrible scenarios lost their power, Thursday smiled at the sight of happy Morse. The world was a better place, filled with opera music and cross-word puzzles. Because detective constable Endeavour Morse returned.

Later, in his flat, Morse turned on his gramophone and started to browse through his records collection. During his imprisonment he actually made a list of music, he would like to listen once again. Now, when he was free, he could actually do it. The list was long, but he knew perfectly, which record will be first. And when he finally found it, he smiled to his thoughts and immediately put it in the gramophone. Soon the whole flat was filled with the sound of choir.

_Va, pensiero, sull'ali dorate;_

_va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli,_

_ove olezzano tepide e molli_

_l'aure dolci del suolo natal!_

Little did Morse know, that at the same time inspector Thursday was thinking about this particular song, even though he didn't know what it meant.


End file.
